Strangers
by Mandi19
Summary: Hermione Granger loves the enemy. Their sensuality is intoxicating but confusing. After everything they've shared, is it mutual love or will they always be strangers to each other? A Dramione fic. Rated Mature for later chapters. R&R please!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Why does the rain make things look darker?

Brown turns to black; red to burgundy.

She opened and closed her palm. The wetness of the downpour was two-faced: it made her want the droplets to stay against her skin, but it was all so cold.

Her Gryffindor colors were dreary looking. She looked out at the sodden terrain. The grass was heavy with wetness. She could feel her foot sink under the earth's crust each step she took. Why does the grass have to be green, she wondered. Why does everything have look like him?

Yellow turns to a muddy gold; whiteblonde to gray-brown.

The rain makes everything darker. Including Ron's voice.

"I don't like the way he looks at you."

"Ronald, you're making something out of nothing."

"No, Hermione, I'm not. That's _my_ look he gives you."

"Ron, you don't have a look. You look at me like any male Weasley looks after he's had a large supper."

"Don't jest, Hermione!"

"Don't jest? What is it you're doing, then; a recounting of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find __Them_ for educational progress?"

"That book is bollocks!"

"As are your bull remarks! Draco—"

"Malfoy is a git! When did you even start calling him by 'Draco'?"

"I can call him by whatever I like, Ronald…"

The clouds above gloated with white light. Thunder followed soon after. The voices in her mind dissipated as she moved onward, like they couldn't bear to be relived. She hated arguing with Ron over Draco. It was as if she wasn't even allowed to be seen by him. So what if Draco occasionally looked at her with not as much malice curving around his smile? She wasn't one to begrudge anybody a bit of decency, especially if it's a first in public. Let him be nicer. It sure would make her life easier. The days were getting longer anyhow, with Harry feeling pressed to face an imminent war. Voldemort was becoming potent with fear. No one was certain what lay ahead the next day, because everyone was too fearful of what would be waiting, or what would not be there anymore.

People drew closer. It summoned the need to be near those that made them feel most alive. Hermione, at the moment, knew she felt the most distant from life as possible. Her heart was so far away, and she couldn't recognize its desires anymore. Why does whiteblonde look mousier than anything when it gets wet? Why can't it be more clear-cut than that? Like the black of nighttime, and the white of a moon—or the grey of a downpour? Anything but a no-name color.

She opened her arms, her robe having been discarded back at the school, and lifted her face towards her rainstorm, wondering what she was trying to find by being soaked with cold and rain. She wanted her feelings for the enemy to be washed away with the rivulets crying down her cheeks. She didn't want the burden of her secret anymore.

She could hear her name being called faintly in the distance.

A white shirt and a mousy head were making their way towards her. They were plastered to the body of someone—obviously male by the looks of the longer legs and flat chest. Flat stomach. Sculpted stomach. He ran to her, opening his arms and taking her to his body. She encircled his neck with deadened arms, feeling him lift her legs around his waist. She realized after the roll of thunder melted away that she was sobbing into his neck, and she felt comforted by his irregular breaths, still trying to calm after running so quickly to get to her. He held her tightly to him, not letting the slippery rain loosen the friction between their heaving chests. She had never felt so far away than at that moment.

"Hermione," he choked. "Hermione," he said again into her sopping wet hair. "I couldn't find you." His breaths continued to find a rhythm. "You weren't where you usually are. I had to find you." Breathe. "Why are you out here? Where's your wand?" He inhaled her scent. "Why are you out here?"

She let one arm fall from his neck and crawl to reach behind her. He felt her wand being tugged from under his locked arms. She had put it in her jeans, partially hidden by her shirt. She pulled it out and wrapped her arm back around him. He felt so complete with her around his form. They should be melted together, and never come apart again.

She turned her head and kissed his earlobe, and then his jaw. They never did anything this blatant outside their regular corners. It was positively freeing, and fleeting.

They had to return to the school.

At first, they held hands after she slinked down from his hold and wiped her eyes. He could hardly move his arm from brushing against hers as they walked. But as the building came into full view they disengaged their palms, and then they slowly began to part from each other's side. Finally, they entered at different entryways, with the rainclouds rolling outwards from behind them. Fragments of thunder continued to growl above their heads even as a misty sky now opened up, promising blue for the hours to come. But the young man soon began to mutter something as he past some unsuspecting Hufflepuffs, causing them to just glimpse a drip from Hermione's disappearing pant leg. Hermione put on a scowl as she entered a nearly empty hallway, as if saying: "Blasted Malfoy; always raining on my holiday." She hoped people could infer her loathing for the Slytherin Prince, because it was dangerous that there actually was none.

She hoped Ron wasn't wandering around looking for her, too. That was an argument she didn't want to confront right now.

Her wand dripped the last of the rain onto the uncarpeted stone below. Each drip came more slowly than the last, until the final one fell onto her bedroom carpet, making her wish she had placed that one onto her lips so that she could rub them together and pretend that the burn wasn't because she kissed the skin of Draco Malfoy, her second pulse.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hermione Granger stared at the plate of food in front of her. Ron let his books drop noisily beside her.

"What if I were to tell you," Ron began, smiling impishly, "That I've found a way to be immune from homework for the rest of my life?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. It's amazing so many of her friends found Ron to be alluring. He was boyishly handsome, to be sure, but lacking quite a bit in the sensible arena.

Harry looked over his glasses at Hermione's expression and then looked at the redhead leaning into his face. "What is it this time, Ron? And what is that awful smell?" He said, batting his hand at the stench.

Hermione pinched her nose. "What have you been eating, Ronald?"

Ron looked at the waving hand and shrugged. "A side effect, I guess. But one I am willing to bear as long as I don't have to spend anymore hours doing boring reports and practicing ludicrous spells when I could be doing other amazing feats."

"Like what, Ron?" Harry asked comically.

"Helping train to defeat Voldemort, of course, with Harry in the lead. No harm in practicing leadership skills, right, Harry? I don't know why we can't cancel class for one week so that we can learn something worthwhile."

"We are learning things worthwhile, Ron, and I am not in the mood to continue this lecture."

Ron parted his hands. "I'm not asking to be lectured. Harry, look," Ron leaned in closer to his friend's face.

Harry crinkled his nose. "I'm not about to look too closely Ron. What is that smell coming from you? Did you eat Filch's cat, or something?"

"No, at least I don't think so."

"Harry, Mrs. Norris would not be caught dead in a potion without Filch right behind her axing some poor bloke's head," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"But it might be some other dead cat, or at least that's what Fred calls it: Dead Cat's Nine Paws for Curing the Phenomenon of Homework. See?" He pulled out an empty vile. "It tastes like chicken! Only it gives the drinker a bad case of rotten breath."

"Ron, how is a potion supposed to help you be immune from homework?"

Ron looked down at the table and bit his lip. "The instructions didn't say, I suppose."

"There were instructions for a potion with as silly a name as that?" Harry asked, baffled.

"Well, yeah. You've got to know what not to eat so that the magical bile from the cat's paws doesn't react to make your breath worse."

"Harry, Ron: let's stop talking around this food before Ron's breath spoils everyone's apetite. And Ronald, it's a fact that no cat has nine paws and that there is any magical bile secreted in them."

Ron's words became misty in her ears as she saw Draco's face. His whiteblonde hair was almost glinting under the spinning lamps of the dining hall. Why oh why does he have to grimace at her like she was nothing? She unconsciously touched her lips and his expression immediately changed as she stroked them.

Brilliant, she thought, and almost smiled at his widening eyes.

"Hermione, where were you this afternoon?"

Hermione stopped her fingers and looked at Ron. He was eyeing her curiously.

"I needed some room, excuse me." She got up from her seat and began to exit the hall. Luna ran to join her, hunching over with a question as her long hair drifted to a standstill across her back.

"Harry," Ron began.

"Ron, cover your mouth, please! I can hardly breathe."

"Sorry." The redhead placed a hand partially over his mouth. "Harry," he said again, "Something's going on with Hermione. She knows something about Malfoy and she's not telling me what's going on between the both of them. She could be in trouble and she won't even ask me for help."

"Ron, if Hermione were in trouble, I'm sure she would tell us. And if she were bound to secrecy, then I believe that she knows what she's doing. She's an able wizard."

Ron looked worriedly over his hand into the air in front of him. "I just worry about her. She's not the same with me. She closes her eyes when I kiss her cheek, like she's pretending it's not me."

"Ron, that's rubbish."

"No, Harry, it's not." Ron lowered his hand and looked over to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. "He'd better be sick right now or I'll bash him in when I see him next." He muttered. His hand slowly went over his mouth as he ate a forkful from Hermione's untouched plate. His face scrunched up. "Ugh! This food tastes like dead cat. Stupid Fred!" He threw the empty vile onto the table. His cup turned over, spilling its juice onto the tablecloth. "Stupid Fred. Stupid, stupid Ron."

Harry looked at his lost friend. He straightened the cup and took the unused napkin from Longbottom's place setting. He was glad that love hadn't yet frustrated him. The napkin soaked up a liquid as red as Ron's hair. Ron rubbed at his face still muttering something about "Stupid" and himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

She smelled him. It's what always hit her first: his scent. It was a musky, expensive smell. She was never quite sure if it was cologne, body wash, or a spell. But she loved it. It reminded her of sailing on the sea, alone, with the one person you loved next to you, their head jokingly nuzzling the crease of your neck. She turned around, angry that she almost flaked into oblivion when his hand grabbed her wrist.

"You lout," she whispered.

Mmm. She loved the feel of his skin.

"You're such tease, Hermione. You're playing with fire, making suggestive gestures like you did in the dining hall. Could get a fellow in big, big trouble, you know? Especially a fellow like me." He pulled her towards him, having already dimmed the lights by some spell, she imagined. The shadows cocooned them, like a microcosm.

"Stop it, Draco," she whispered, a little louder now. She hardly resisted, though. "It's only just dinnertime." He could feel her head look around outside their shadow. "We've already seen enough of each other today."

He bent in to smell her hair. She could hear his inhale, and it gave her goose bumps. "You never did tell me why you were out there today, all alone, and asking for a cold."

She caught her breath as he drew her closer, touching her cheek with his own.

"Once is never enough for us." He brushed his lips over her jaw line, reminding her of earlier, in the rain. "These past few months prove that, right?" He chuckled slightly, his breath moving the hair around her sensitive ear.

"I was looking for an answer," she suddenly said in her regular voice.

Draco's face was in front of her own. The silver of his eyes reflected what little light lay outside the shadows. "An answer to what?" He inquired, less lustily.

Hermione was quiet for a while, feeling his arms around her slacken, but never letting go. He had promised her, once, that he would always be able to hold her weight; hold all of her.

"I've been sick over Ron, lately." She finally said, quietly.

Draco snorted. "That chump? He's a gonk."

Hermione's eyes were sharp in the little light there was. "Don't use such language, Draco…I care about him, and you know it. What am I supposed to do about this situation, where there's me and Ron, holding hands between classes, the closest of confidantes, while the two of us meet in shadows after suppertime or behind some door after dark."

"Why are you with him? You said you only cared about him. You don't love him, do you?" Draco's hands gripped her arms. "Do you?" He was bitter, and his voice wasn't discreet about it.

It made her all the more sick. "Of course I love him. But it's different than what I feel about you." She shrugged off his grasp.

"Do you love me, then? Say it, Hermione. Do you love me?"

"I'm too young to know about love!" She suddenly shouted.

They were still for a moment, knowing that their voices had betrayed their situation if anyone was nearby. They heard nothing.

"Why do you keep him for your daylight and me for your shadows?"

"What would people think, Draco? Ron and I were together before I ever had feelings for you. I saved your life and then suddenly we were no longer archenemies—it was so fast. And poor Ron has to go on seeing me change before his eyes without a reason for it! I can't imagine what goes through his brain."

Draco huffed. "What little he has of one."

Hermione scowled at him. "He loves me. He tries to tell me this all the time but can't ever get it out. But I'm a girl. I'm tuned into these things." She stepped away from him, hugging herself. "I'm so lost, Draco. It makes me so sick."

It was silent once more.

"I hate hiding this," she mumbled. "I'm more myself when I'm with you."

He stroked her arm. She shivered.

"That's because you're all passion, Hermione Granger, and I bring that out most in you."

She could feel the tears come, but she held off. He was right, and she hated denying it.

"If you hadn't saved me, Hermione, you wouldn't be in this fix." His voice was so steady when he said it.

"I think about that day almost every morning I wake up, and I've never regretted it," she touched his shoulder softly, "not once."

She put her lips on his neck, and then rested her head in the crease of it. Like the lovers she imagined out on the sea, all alone, and un-judged. She whispered, "You wouldn't be in this fix with me if you hadn't saved me, either."

He laughed softly. "Those were some long days. I remember Potter's face when he discovered us; thought I was the one that broke your leg in the first place. Made you all dirty, and your shirt torn," he began to breathe heavily, making her own breaths deeper. "Mind you, I've never once thought I should've turned to Ron or Pothead for help that day. Only I could take care of you like I did."

This part of the story always made them remember how intimate they were, how they had subconsciously fought for one another against everything, even death. She brought her hot mouth against his and they kissed, deep and hard. He wanted to tear her shirt off, but he wouldn't. They hadn't gotten that far in their relationship. He wanted her, so badly, though. Hermione would never be as sick as he was for want of her. He loved her. He never knew how to say it, though, except with his body. He was all hers. He hoped she realized that's what he meant by holding her and desiring her, dreaming of her, telling her their story in her ear so that she could evaporate with how she knew it would end. He ran his hands across her stomach. His dream last night was of her, holding a baby. Curse that Weasley scum. Curse his Slytherin colors. Curse her Muggle blood.

No, no. Don't curse her blood. Never curse her blood. Curse his close-mindedness that he never saw her for the young woman that she was until a few months ago. Curse his family for hating her kind so much. Curses, curses, curses! That this breathing form in his arms was not for him, and maybe never would be.

They kissed to the pulse that they made together. It beat strong. The shadows kept the world at bay. Their ship held just the two of them.


	4. Chapter 4: Six Months Earlier

**Chapter 4**

**Six**** Months Earlier, in the Trickster's Nest**

Hermione had been walking a very long time. Ron had left her napping in the tower, kissing her cheek softly, which made her touch the cold cheek now. It was a bit nippy that afternoon; silly of her to wear a mere sweater instead of her jacket. It was a soft wool sweater, pink, like the pastel color of her shirt. She suddenly wondered why she was wearing so much pink. It was downright unlike her to layer so much of the same color. Especially pink. She straightened her shoulders as she continued to traipse over the hill. The forest was drawing near, but she didn't think Harry and Ron had gone into it this day. She thought she had heard Ron talking about a portal, which was silly, Hermione thought to herself. Must have been a dream.

Portals are too dangerous a thing for Ron and Harry to explore alone—without her, at least.

She continued walking, suddenly hearing a slight crackle off at a distance. She wondered if it could be her missing comrades, or a portal closing. She held her wand at her side more tightly, wondering if they really were talking about a portal key earlier. She couldn't remember. She exhaled. Better safe than sorry. She headed towards the sound that she heard.

A slight wind was blowing from the east. It was quite cold, and it made Hermione all the more determined to find the boys, and to get back to Hogwarts. Her steps sounded against the grass beneath her. It would be snowing soon, she thought. She shivered as she thought about the oncoming winter and how thin the sweater she wore really was. Her head turned as she heard a cry, or something like one. The next moment the sound had dispelled into the winding winds, and she suddenly doubted what she heard exactly. But it sounded again, obviously human. Ron, she thought. Harry, she added a second later. Scratching that, she thought again Ron, and ran towards the cry. Her wand was held tightly in her grasp.

She neared the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The wind howling through the trees seemed colder as she stood at the edge of the brush. Again she heard the cry and, running, she entered the foliage. She began shouting for Ron and Harry, disliking the feel of the wind rush into her mouth every time she called out. She distinctly heard a moan coming from somewhere over a rise on the forest floor, and she called out "Ron!" before coming to her knees and peering over the edge of a glowing green and purple web. The web's strings glowed like there was a charge running through them, alternating their purple and green chorus, looking very unreal, almost transparent.

"Ron! Harry!" She called into the mouth of the web. It stretched over what seemed like a dark cave. It stretched from just under the rise she leaned over to the ground outside of the cave's entrance. She grimaced at the spectacle. What an ugly concoction, she thought. The cry came from just inside the cave. It was definitely male.

"Harry! Ron!" She called again into the cave below.

The groan she heard began to shape words. "Argh! Come on now! You can't be serious. Oh, bollocks!" She saw the slight movement of a head. She quickly stood up and descended the rise, careful not to touch any part of the sprawling web as she hit the floor.

She peered inside as best she could. It definitely wasn't Ron's voice, or Harry's. "Hello there?" She called out. She squinted, trying to make out the owner of the light head that was struggling to crane from inside the dark. His face jerked up to meet her gaze. It was Malfoy.

She looked at him, thoroughly annoyed.

"What?" he said, with some effort. "Not too pleased to find me here instead of your Weasel gimp?"

She crossed her arms.

He snorted, obviously struggling to keep face. "You know, you could go get me some help. Some able help at that." He looked her up and down. How characteristic of a Malfoy to look so disgusted at his rescuer while so obviously in pain.

"Malfoy, I am your able help, for now. I'll be glad to fetch you your desired help as soon as I find someone that I've lost, but until then, since you're elsewhere employed and I have other business to attend, I suppose I won't see you again until suppertime. Good luck." She began to walk away.

"Oh, curses! Curses, Granger! Come back here or I'll turn your Weasel into mush and make Potter eat him!"

He saw Hermione peep her head back at him. "What, so now I'm considered able to help you?"

"If you can wave your blasted stick without blundering up you'll be able enough." He panted, his brow creased with sweat.

Hermione shook her head. So typical, trying to seem like rescuing him wouldn't have anything to do with actually saving his pitiful life. She stepped back from him, measuring the web that was sprawled out.

"I do believe I can't help you right away, until I can deduce what exactly this is."

"Some school project gone to the devil." Malfoy grunted.

Hermione stroked her chin, thinking. "Or some protection for a hidden nest."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I suppose this life-sucking 'barrier' is connected to this nest's digestive tract."

Hermione shrugged. "Birds do it all the time. Some pull brambles over their ground nests to detract predators." She put her hands on her hips. "Now, what was that about the web sucking out your life?"

Malfoy grunted again, panting harder. "I'm not—I'm not quite sure what's going on exactly, but I'm not feeling as pleasant as I was earlier. Quite the opposite, actually." He peered up at her, his head slowly sinking, his expression losing its strength. "Granger…" his breath ran out with his disappearing head. Hermione planted her feet and raised her wand. Her words were garbled to Draco's ears, and even as he heard the sharp tears of the web growing louder, he could hardly keep conscious, even as he felt two hands grasp his left arm and support/drag him to sunlight.

"Get your Mudblood hands off me," he managed to mumble as he struggled to balance on all fours. He felt her fist meet his jaw like a hammer on a nail, and he fell to the ground. He shouted an obscenity at her. She muttered one back. She even pushed him back to the ground as he tried to get up, shouting at him about calling her such a derogatory name. He heard her footsteps move away, and he suddenly didn't want to be abandoned.

"They went that way," he said.

She stopped and turned around, her eyes spewing anger as she looked at him. "Who went where?"

"Your precious Weasel and that Pothead." He patted at his tender jaw. He was still so weak.

"What do you mean?"

"I was following them, and I was trying to stay out of sight when I stumbled onto a bit of that web and got sucked in." He opened his mouth slowly, gauging the toll of her punch. "Someone should really cut this cave off from innocent pedestrians."

"They did when they named the forest Forbidden." She looked around. "Which way did they go? They might be in as big a scrape as you were in just now."

"I still say it was a failed assignment." He looked up at her irritated gaze. "They went that way," he said, pointing in the direction she was headed. He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. She was really very appealing when she was irritated. He liked the fire in her eyes, how they spat at him. He never felt so special.

He heard something raise from the brush by the cave. A green and purple strand suddenly stretched out, wrapping around Hermione's ankle. He hardly had time to shout out her name when he instinctively grabbed her flailing arm. He felt the wind rush past him as his face pressed through the web like a finger through gelatin. Together they were pulled even deeper than Draco had been. The cave's throat opened into blackness, and his stomach dropped with a long fall.

Hermione landed on top of him, and he felt her head go limp as he shouted with the pain of breaking both their falls. She rolled off of him. It was a bit wet, but Malfoy grabbed onto the ground with all his strength to raise himself up. He looked over. Hermione's wand was glowing. A classic spell. He grabbed his wand from his side doing the same. Good going, Malfoy, Draco thought to himself as he looked at his wand. Could have done something to save the both of you instead of grab onto that Mudblood like she needed saving or something. He looked over at Hermione. Her eyes were closed, like she was unconscious. Her head had landed against the wall beside them, but there was a slight fissure in the rock above her head. He stumbled over to her body, crawling over it so that he could have a look at the vulnerable space. Something smelled divine. He inhaled slowly, finding his head to be just above her wild hair. It looked less frizzy up close. He could see some ringlets in the small glare of light from their wands and the crack above her head. Her eyes fluttered open. For some reason, being on top of a girl always made Draco feel wicked.

"Hello, love," he said softly into her face, smiling crookedly at her. She gasped and tried to move away, but she grabbed her head suddenly, wincing. He tried not to let the lines of her body throw his smile. He didn't even know how to react to her being in pain. It bothered him, and he didn't know why. He put his hand under her head, leading it to a resting spot on the ground. They both looked at each other blankly then, and he moved off of her, suddenly speechless. He didn't like the way he was acting. So un-Malfoy of him.

"Are we in the cave?" He heard her say.

"Yes, unfortunately. Back to this inferno." He turned to her now. "And it's all your fault."

She sighed and turned to her side, trying to sit up.

"Don't ignore it, Granger. You bloody well admit that this situation was created by your carelessness!" He turned around and muttered something inappropriate, but not Mudblood.

"If I can recall as clearly as I can," she grunted as she sat up, "you grabbed me. You put yourself into this position." She looked up at the vast crevice that they had been thrown down into. No wonder she had a head wound. She rested her head on her hand. "I can't see anything."

"I know. Could be a man-eating creature beyond these shadows." He looked at her, wanting to emphasize "man-eating," but decided against it. It would eat him, too, though he wasn't part Muggle like Granger. He looked at the small crack above her sitting place. "You know, Granger, this is pretty easy to get out of. Got any ideas? No? There's a crack behind you, in the wall. That's what I call our way out, and it's all because of my Malfoy prowess." He stood up, trying to look more intimidating than he felt. He didn't recognize his softer tone around her. He glinted at her and smirked. "Weakling."

Totally uncalled for. He knew it, too. So what if she had the bumpier landing and lost almost her whole head. It wasn't preventable. But he didn't want to take back what he said. He ignored the rocks his footsteps skidded in her direction. He began to dig at the hole, pulling away the soft rock around it.

"Wait," Hermione interrupted. She looked at the small hole. "That light looks—odd, doesn't it?" She put her hand in its faint light, growing stronger by the size of the hole.

Draco ignored her. Suddenly he gasped, pulling away from the nearly gaping opening.

Hermione looked through their new window. A nest of hatching Acromantulas were trembling on a floor below. They were on the other side of a nest of carnivorous, giant, tarantulas. Draco couldn't stop panting. His side hurt dreadfully, and he sunk to a sitting position away from the wall. Hermione just looked worriedly around her, thinking, thinking. Surely there was a way out, without drawing attention to themselves. Poor Hagrid would regret them killing any of the babies. But by the looks of the faint Malfoy and her slightly bleeding cranium, they were in for a conflict, and she might be seeing Malfoy at suppertime like she said to him earlier, only there would be no table, only bludgeoned spider bellies.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**A/N:** Just a note: I wanted to apologize for not updating for a very long while. First off, I honestly didn't know how to get Hermione and Draco out of their situation. And then my adapter/charger thing for my laptop had to be replaced and that took almost four weeks! So, there were my problems that I had to face, but now that summer's going on, I promise to be more on top of things, OK?

* * *

"There has to be a spell," Hermione whispered to herself. She held out her glowing wand in front of her, staring at the tip, like the spell was going to jump from it at any moment to rescue her. But it remained glowing white, like the shaft of light against Draco's hair.

He sat in front of her, rocking back and forth. Hermione stared him, slightly irritated.

"Could anyone be more useless?" She muttered, hoping he could feel her gaze.

Draco raised his chin, looking at her. His eyes were buried under a scowl. "What was that, Granger? Care to get yourself eaten?" He lifted his wand and pointed it at her. "I can be as loud as I want."

Hermione shook her head and glared at him. "Of course you can be, ferret! You can make as much noise as you want as long as you want to be eaten right alongside of me!"

Draco had gone back to staring at the floor. Hermione muttered under her breath, "Daft ferret; contradicting fool."

He had stopped rocking, at least. Now all they had to do was have an epiphany. If he kept up with his pettiness she wouldn't share hers with him, if she ever got one. She squinted her eyes shut and pointed the wand tip to the side of her head, wanting, wanting for an epiphany to come. A second later, none did.

She was suddenly angry with her luck to be stuck with Draco Malfoy. "The stupid git," she thought to herself. She twisted the wand tip harder onto her head, through the curly mess of her hair, directed at her lobes. "Come on, Hermione. Come on." She dared to glance through the opening into the nest again. The Acromantulas were still there, mostly hatched from their eggs. The nest was disgusting looking. She didn't know why Hagrid cared for them so much. The floor that they were hatching on was a little ways below their own on the other side. The light, a hazy blue, lit the area, but there was no opening that was the cause for it. It was an eerie light, too. If she saw it in a photograph, she would say that it was generated by something—unreal, like a scene in a film that was obviously made on a computer. Eerie. Magical. It was light and yet heavy. She turned away, her eyes hurting from its stench. It smelled like blood to her.

"Granger!" Malfoy snapped at her. "What are you doing? Stop pushing your face through that hole! They will see and smell you, and then I will hold you responsible for my death." He pointed to the wall. "I'll burn it into words right there: Hermione Granger, Muggle-born, murderer of Draco Malfoy. And then the world will hate that name as much as I do."

Hermione had never felt so murderous. If she had claws, she would pierce his tongue with them and then pull it out, relishing his screams. But instead she planned on turning him into a maggot when they got back to school. Because they would get out, even it meant sacrificing Malfoy to the babies in the process.

Ah. She couldn't help herself. She threw some dirt and rocks at him. "Wanker!"

He growled at her and then began to shout at her. She kept quiet for fear of being noticed and instead began to throw handfuls of dirt and rock from the removed wall at him. He kept jerking his head away, and moved closer in between each slug. "Mudblood…bloody fu—" he began to scream.

And then they heard it, the small scream of legs. They were moving, and both enemy heads bent through the hole warily, witnessing the baby Acromantulas scuttling under the wall beneath their hole.

"They can't climb a wall this high!" Draco cried out, as though reassuring only himself.

They couldn't. But meat was close, so they began to climb on top of each other, climbing the backs of ones above them, rising higher, a pyramid of writhing, small-backed Acromantulas. Their hairs seemed to Hermione millions of teeth. She backed away as quickly as Draco.

Draco clamped his clammy fingers onto the hair in his eyes. "You should kiss me, Granger, that way you'll know what a real man can do to you before you die." He was trembling slightly.

Hermione stared at him, wanting to roll her eyes, but the shock of scuttling legs made her widen her eyes even more.

Then there was no more eerie light, only darkness of jumping bodies. She screamed, hearing Malfoy's next her ear. She thrust her wand at a spider on her leg, and then it was gone, so she began to thrust it into the cloud that was attempting to crawl into her clothes.

"Hermione!" Draco yelled.

She looked over at him, blinking at the oncoming surge of legs and tiny hairs.

He mouthed something, but managed no voice. She watched as his wand went through the tiny bodies, making them dissipate like burning tissue paper. She looked over at those her own wand touched. She thrust at them even harder, watching in amazement as they curled up into the air around them. They weren't just running off to other sides of her. They were disappearing, because they weren't real. They were biting her though. They were solid, yet they were like vapors. Vapors with teeth.

With renewed hope, she stood up, batting her wand around without aim. Draco had joined her, and they moved around in the fury around them, leaning against walls, and running towards blank floor spaces. She felt like she was having bits of her melting off as she was bit on the legs over and over again. Draco had stumbled beside her, one latched onto his arm. He had lost his wand. She gritted her teeth to reach through the oncoming surge to retrieve it. She realized she might have lost a finger, but all five were wrapped around the handle when she pulled it to her face. She angrily stabbed at the one biting off his arm and he whisked it from her grasp, managing a "thanks" before resuming his battling. They were backed up against a wall again, swatting furiously, stabbing, jabbing, breathing when they could, trying to stay…upright at least. Something gave way behind her. She suddenly felt her heart go faint: they were climbing behind her legs now, to reach her face. But instead the rock crackled and she was falling, looking up at endless ceiling, and then at the waterfall of little brown hands. Draco landed on top of her. She managed not to get any legs in her mouth as she screamed. Her leg had fallen off; she was sure of it.

As the waterfall plummeted, the little bodies curled up and screeched, becoming nothing as handfuls and handfuls slammed onto the floor. Those that hadn't made it up through the wall were ripping at her jeans and shirt. Draco rolled off of her finally and began stabbing those that had been left on the floor. She tried to muster a few jabs, but in her pain, she missed all but one. Draco's wand kept flashing in front of her and over her ears, until the screeching and the legs had stopped, and she closed her eyes to wonder if she was still alive or maybe half-dead.

Draco could feel the shreds of his shirt arm sink into the gash on his right arm. He looked up at the huge opening that had delivered him and Hermione onto the floor below, and to their salvation. Another brown body gamboled over the edge and fell with a final screech to the floor in front of his face. It hit the floor and then curled into oblivion, like the rest. He lay on the floor for the next few moments. He didn't think he was actually alive in every moment that came to him from there. All he focused on then were his breaths.

Hermione exhaled next to him. The cold stone under his ear he realized was pushing back against his head, hard. He felt her still form lying next to him, a body resonating beside him. The two of them clung to the stone ground, silent as the breaths coming from their half-open mouths. She whimpered, bringing him to a crawl beside her. She was lying on her back, her head turned away from him. One leg was bloodying her pant leg. He softly touched the other one, on her thigh.

She saved my life, was all he thought. I said that I hated her name.

"My leg is broken," she managed with a thick voice. Hermione squinted, tears making her lids feel hot. She sucked in breath as Draco touched the bloodied pant above her severed leg. She murmured at the pain she felt. "Malfoy, Malfoy…"

"Granger…"

His tone of voice betrayed his uncertainty of what to do, but it was also oddly comforting. So comforting…she wanted him to speak again, and it didn't seem wrong to just ask.

"Talk to me, Malfoy—Draco, talk. Give me some words, please?" She still felt as though she should be dead. She still wasn't sure if she was almost there, or what.

"Granger—," no, he should say something more comforting, "Hermione," he liked the feel her name gave his tongue, "we're in a predicament of startling proportions."

She moved her head to the side. She was beginning to feel better.

His fingers touched the back of her hand. "We could still die, especially you, but we'll come up with something, and we'll be back for a hero's dinner. And I'll—I'll give you your plate first, 

and we'll toast some—something, and your Weasel will be there," he suddenly felt sick, "and your leg will be repaired with a simple flick of the wand, and we'll get baths and bandages…" he looked at his arm that he had across his bent knees. It had been gnawed on by one of the babies, and all he could see was red, red.

Red jeans, red arm sleeve…

Brown eyes, living eyes, a breath, a tendril…

He reached out to her, like he never wanted to pull back. She was looking at him, and suddenly he wanted to say something to her, but he didn't know what.

She was feeling strange as he touched her hair. It was as if it was right in some other universe, but here it felt—out of place, but so right…

They should have died together…

…Together.

She swallowed. "Go get help. See if the wall can be," she inhaled sharply, "broken in any other spot. Harry and Ron could still be out there."

He stared at her for a moment, whether it was her voice that entranced him or the loss of blood, she wasn't sure. But suddenly his mouth moved, and then he cleared his throat, and began again, "Abandon…no." He shook his head. "No. You're hurt. I'm not leaving you when this hellish spell could conjure a new nest while you're lying here in the middle of the floor. I'm not doing it, Granger!" His voice was getting louder. "I'm not leaving you to find some incompetent blockheads to take even longer to get help. No!" He realized he was loud. Softer, "No. I'm not."

He was stroking her hair. She felt sleepy now.

"We must. You must, Dra—" she suddenly realized she was using his first name. So she swallowed. "You must find help. It hurts…"

At her words Draco's eyes changed. And he felt their shift in his heart. "Granger—Hermione, I'll get us out of here." A moment later, "I'm sorry it hurts so much. If I knew a spell…"

She shook her head slowly. "No spells for this one. Try the walls, Draco. Malfoy." She didn't know which name to use. "Look for our way out. You found the last hole, after all."

She meant it as an encouragement, but he felt pangs in his gut and strangely in his heart area when she said those words. Yeah, he found the last hole. He hoped he could redeem himself with another. He moved away from her and stood up slowly, trying not to grunt as he moved his injured arm. He walked to the far wall, the bluish light that lit the room felt cursed, like it had fangs, and it wanted to bite and bite and grin and laugh…it felt thirsty, cumbersome. He moved his hands across the wall. He did it across the whole wall until he was on another one, and he moved his hands around that one until he came to the next one, and then the last one, and then he cursed so sharply that Hermione responded with a sound that made him turn to her, desperate, and eyes glazed.

He got to his knees when he came to her and took her hand. He was hoarse when he spoke next, "There is no way out. There is no way out." Her eyes turned away from his and closed. There was sweat glistening on her brow. The beads were singing in their scream-song, the melodies of her pain, of her broken bone. He touched her cheek with the back of his good hand, and then stood up and walked to the far wall, grabbing a rock that had formed the wall they fell through and threw it at the cold stone. The stone slabs that fell from the wall he didn't notice until he was done yelling, his face red, his neck veins strained and slowly receding back under his skin. He was panting when he stumbled to the new indent, moving his hands over the miracle. He turned around and took the now smaller rock and threw it against the blessed blemish. More fell away. The rock was so soft, so wonderful.

Hermione could hear him throwing rock against rock for what seemed like ages, but she was in her half-sleep at that point, and couldn't muster from it to check on him until a while later. When she opened her eyes finally, there he was, sweating in darker circles on his half-bloodied shirt, working on the indent that was now deep, and just so wonderful, so wonderful. She let out a breath and struggled to sit herself up.

She took in a breath and then exhaled. "Draco."

He turned around quickly, smiling at her, showing her his unbuttoned shirt that revealed a torn undershirt sticking wetly to his torso. Her pain lessened at the sight of him. He looked...delicious.

He wiped his forehead. "Lay back down, Gra—Hermione," he breathed in deeply. "I think we're almost through." He turned back around to his deepening notch and picked up another chunk of soft rock. "Almost though," he said again in a strained voice as he threw the rock into the tiny mouth. It broke through to the other side. He turned, panting, towards Hermione. She was smiling tiredly at him, her head against the floor, her arm bent and laying next to her hair. She was lovely and he wanted to lay next to her and touch…

He did the logical thing instead and looked out the hole to peer out. The hole opened to a slight incline that led to a stream. It was opposite the cave's opening. Blasted cave opening. He wished he had never walked past it today. But he turned to Hermione lying there still. He walked over to her and began to bend down to pick her up, bearing hard on his teeth to greet the imminent pain.

"No, get help. Harry and Ron…" she began, worriedly.

He ignored her and picked her up anyway. He was glad she was light, because he could hardly ignore how his arm felt: like it was breaking off.

"No, no—your arm, Draco. Your arm…you're injured, you don't need…"

"I don't need you to talk to me right now, that's what I don't need," he said, annoyed with the pain and her reprimanding. "I could just drop you here and leave you for the night." He shook his head at those words. "I don't mean that." He bent over to situate her on the edge of the hole, reaching around her to claw for a bigger opening. He slid out, onto the rocky incline with a grunt. His arm hurt like it was slowly being burned open. He reached out for her when he made sure that his footing was secure, and she moved her good leg out, and then bent down. It was awkward moving, but he moved her through the hole and then put her in front of him, in his outstretched arms. He inhaled the scent of her hair, for motivation, before making his way over a large rock and onto the ground beside the stream. He couldn't carry her anymore and so he put her down. She was so pale.

"You look pale, Draco," she reached out and he went to his knees to catch his breath. Her skin felt good, so he sat down and rested his head in the crook of his arm that lay across a raised knee. She continued stroking the hair around his ear until he didn't know if he was dreaming or still breathing to the rhythm of her fingers through his hair.


End file.
